This evening W’s brother came over and we went out for dinner together in town (as I write this, we are home, it’s nearly midnight, and we’ve hit the columbian coffee… well, apart from W who is drinking tea).
We went to a pub on the station road (so-called because the railway station is on it) called “The Donkey”. The pub was named after a railway engine that used to haul logs from the saw mills at Marlow to the goods yards at Bourne End and Maidenhead many moons ago.
Since moving to Marlow perhaps 6 years ago now I have been in the Donkey about 3 times. Each time was completely un-inspiring. It was always a typical town pub - almost always deserted, with a staff that gave the impression they would be anywhere else if they had a chance. Then about a month ago while cycling to work I passed the Donkey, and it was covered in scaffolding. “Ah, they must have shut it down…”
About three weeks later we were walking into town one night to have dinner with friends at a pub, and nearly didn’t recognise “The Donkey”. Smart tables and chairs bedecked a patio reaching up to the public footpath, and through the warm lighting from inside we saw groups of friends nestled around oak tables in wonderful surroundings with friendly staff and wonderful food. Have you ever been on the way somewhere and suddenly realised that you wished you had been going somewhere else? We know we did.
Tonight we finally made our way (in a somewhat circumspect manner) to The Donkey. Erase all previous experiences of the place. Erase all damning comments about the place. We now have the best pub in town on our doorstop. Wonderful atmosphere. Wonderful staff. Wonderful food. What more can you ask for… of course, the worry is now that when we both arrive home from work late we are going to take the Donkey option for dinner rather than go and buy food. We are already considering it for Christmas dinner.
Aside from the wonderful evening spent with W and her brother, something quite unexpected happened late in the evening. I’m not sure if it had anything to do with two or three drinks and a third of a bottle of wine, but it happened all the same…
We were sitting (as you do) discussing life, the universe and everything, and I was actually keeping up with the conversation. This is unheard of in recent experience - I drift off very easy if my work or other things are pressing on my mind. In the middle of the conversation “Fields of Gold” by Eva Cassidy crept from the speakers around the pub.
Quite unobtrusively I dropped out of the conversation and found myself sat in our lounge several weeks ago listening to my best friend play guitar and sing a song she had written. I have a strange feeling that W knew it had happened too - after a short while her toes rubbed my leg without breaking step in the conversation she was having across the table from me. (How do women do that multi-tasking thing?).
After changing subjects several times, we ended up talking about various family problems and friendship, and I had to admit that my closest friend is somebody I met on the internet. We generally “catch up” every day - and bizarrely miss each other if we miss a session. Our conversations range from the mundane to the truly bizarre, and yet they are always easy. We don’t have to try to make conversation - it just seems to find it’s own way from the recesses of our mind, with no censorship or preparation.
I guess there should be a good “thought” for the weekend to end on here somewhere. Maybe it should be to value our friends (if we have them), and to hope that others might enjoy the same quality or level of friendship that we sometimes take for granted. In my own quiet way I think the world of my friends, but I don’t always let them know that.
You know who you all are. Have a great weekend